KILLING SARAI(65)

“You look nice,” Victor says from the chair, the newspaper resting on his legs.

So do you….

“Thanks,” I say and look away.

I’ve never been so afraid to make eye contact with him before. The humiliation is stronger than I thought. The more he looks at me the more paranoid I get about what’s going on inside his mind right now. I don’t know what got into me last night. I went into his room with passion and lust in my eyes but at some point that I can’t possibly determine, I turned into a psychotic masochist.

But he let me. And I’m not sure how to feel about that. I know he didn’t get any pleasure out of it and I wouldn’t expect him to, but the only one of us who seems to feel awkward about it is me.

Victor stands up from the chair and leaves the newspaper on the table. He reaches into his right pocket and pulls out a roll of cash.

“For your daughter’s clothes,” he says, placing the money into Ophelia’s hand. “And there’s enough there to pay for your time as well.”

She drops the roll into her own pocket.

“So, I guess this is it then,” Ophelia says. “If you ever decide to move back into this area you know how to find me. My rates will stay the same for you.”

Victor nods.

“I will do that,” he says.

Ophelia turns to me with a big close-lipped smile.

“You keep him in line,” she says. “And just try the heels. You’d look fabulous in them.”

I smile back. “I’ll think about it.”

She pats me on the arm as she walks past, taking up her purse from the floor on her way to the front door.

Long after Ophelia leaves, I’m still looking at the door, not with her on my mind, but I can’t bring myself to look at Victor.

He walks around in front of me and fits my elbows in his hands. I stand with my arms crossed loosely over my stomach.

“Sarai,” he says.

I raise my eyes to look at him and before he can say whatever it was he had planned to say, I blurt out softly, “I’m so sorry for…Victor, I’m not crazy or…well, I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says.

I just look at him.

“You play beautifully,” he goes on. “Have you ever considered playing professionally?”

Many long seconds go by before I manage an answer.

“I did think about being up on a stage somewhere,” I say and his hands fall away from my elbows. “But I really have no interest in anything like that anymore. I just like to play for myself.”

To avoid eye contact again, I walk over to the couch and start arranging the clothes in a neat pile on the cushion.

With my back to him, I go on:

“I don’t have any idea what I’ll do when I get to my aunt’s, but I’ll figure something out. An education of sorts and then after that maybe I’ll go into…,” I can’t finish because I don’t know what to say. I dodge it, fidgeting the fabric anxiously in my hands now. “At least I’ll look nice when I see her. Maybe she’ll accept me now that I’m wearing clothes that didn’t come from the half-off rack at the dollar store.”

“Can you promise one thing?” Victor asks.

I turn to look at him.

“I guess I owe you that much,” I say. “What?”

“Just that you’ll play for me from time to time.”

“What do you mean?”

He leans over beside a bookshelf and takes another suitcase into his hand. Then he walks toward me and sets it down on the couch, flipping the two latches on the sides.

When he opens it, it’s empty. He points briefly at my pile of clothes.

“Our plane leaves in an hour,” he says. “From here on out until I tell you otherwise, you are Izabel Seyfried and you are confident in your skin. You are strong-minded and sharp-tongued but you let me do all of the talking except when you feel the need to state your opinion on whatever matter you choose, even when it’s not asked for. You fear nothing, yet you exude a sense of vulnerability that you know, privately of course, will drive a powerful man’s need to know what it’s like to be the one to break you. You are wealthy, though no one needs to know where your money comes from, only that you have enough of it to wipe your ass with one hundred dollar bills every time you take a shit. And the only man in any room that can tame you is me, which we will, almost certainly, have to demonstrate at least once during this mission. So, keep in mind that whatever I do to you, play along accordingly. And whatever I tell you to do, do it without question because it could be the difference between life and death. Do you understand?”

I stare at him blankly.

“You’re taking me with you?” There are about fifty questions swirling around inside my head, but that’s the only one I could pluck from the disarray.

He steps up to me. “Yes,” he answers. “I’ll take you with me on one mission because I want you to see what it’s like. You need to understand that the life I lead is not the life for you.” He takes my hands into his and sits down with me on the couch, pushing the suitcase aside. “Hopefully, this will help you to be more accepting of a life out there instead; one with college and a job and friends and boyfriends.”

He encloses his fingers around my hands more firmly and I begin to gaze beyond him, thinking about what he said, about his reasons for doing this. Momentarily, I wonder which one of us he’s trying to convince.